And I pass a kid, maybe six years old? hanging out on his front lawn with his bike. I wave and keep on going.
Then, over the sound of my iPod, I hear this "WHOOP! WHOOP!" Like an honest-to-goodness police siren, if the police car were six years old and somewhat adorable. I stop. I turn. Kid is pedaling after me like mad. I wait. Especially because I'm a mom and there's no other parent in sight.
Then I perceive that the kid is actually dressed like a police officer. Like, in a costume, maybe left over from Halloween or something. And with a complete poker face, never ONCE cracking a smile, he gravely informs me that I was speeding and that he needs to write me a ticket.
Which he does.
Believe me when I say, as God is my witness, that no one has EVER IN MY LIFE faulted me for running too fast.
"I was running too fast?" I clarify with him, desperately swallowing a giggle.
"So ... should I ... walk?" (Because that is the only speed slower than my run, I'm pretty sure.)
"Yes." Still no smile.
"Be careful," he concludes, tucking his pad and pen away. "Lots of cops out today."
I walk until I'm pretty sure I'm out of his sight. Two tickets in one day would just be too much.
Running may not be my favorite thing ever. I may not ever enjoy it (although I DO plan to enjoy hobbling across that finish line next weekend). But has it enriched my life in so very many ways?